SilverCrest rarely saw visitors. Not since the severing.
The ancient stronghold sat perched in a frostbitten valley, half-forgotten by the more political packs. Its people valued privacy. Its Alpha — Aria’s grandfather — had long since withdrawn from the Council’s mess.
But now, as fresh snow fell and tension thickened the air, hoofbeats thundered down the icy path.
Zara heard them first.
She was in the training yard with Aria, guiding her through slow, focused stretches to ease the ache in her lower back. Aria froze mid-movement, her storm-gray eyes narrowing.
“That’s not a supply run,” she murmured.
Zara turned, her ears shifting slightly in wolf form. “Too many. And heavy.”
By the time the gates creaked open, a full delegation stood waiting outside. Five riders cloaked in dark leather. One flag: crimson, with a silver crescent slashed down the center — the mark of the Greenwood Pact.
Not allies.
Not enemies either.
Something worse.
They were opportunists.
A steward escorted the envoy leader — a woman named Commander Vessa — through the inner keep. Her dark braids were streaked with frost, her golden eyes sharp as razors. She did not bow when she entered Aria’s chambers. She scanned the space, calculated the power in the room, and only then offered a nod.
“You’re more luminous than the council described,” she said, not unkindly. “And far more… alive.”
Aria didn’t rise. “Let’s skip the flattery. Why are you here?”
“Word travels fast, Luna,” Vessa said. “Even to the edge of the territories.”
Aria’s hand instinctively drifted to her stomach.
“The child is no longer just a matter of gossip,” Vessa continued. “She’s a seismic shift in power. Alpha Kael’s heir. Your heir. A possible Moon-Blessed.”
Aria said nothing. She was used to others defining her child — heir, mistake, miracle, threat.
“We’ve come to offer protection,” Vessa said finally. “You and the child will be granted diplomatic immunity in Greenwood lands. Housing. Guards. Seers. Everything.”
Zara barked a short laugh. “You want to shelter us?”
Vessa smiled. “We want to align with you.”
Aria stood slowly, every inch of her posture a warning. The firelight flickered across her skin, catching the glint of the scar near her collarbone — the one Kael had kissed the night before the council severed them.
“What do you want in return?” she asked.
Vessa’s gaze didn’t waver. “Loyalty. When the child is born and recognized by the Council, she will hold sway. We want your word that she’ll speak for Greenwood’s interests.”
“So you’d protect us,” Aria said coldly, “only to control her voice.”
“Is that not the way of all alliances?”
Zara stepped forward. “She’s not even born yet, and you’re trying to claim her like property.”
“Like potential,” Vessa corrected. “And potential is currency in our world.”
Aria’s stomach twisted — not with fear, but with fury. This was exactly what she’d hoped to avoid. Politics wrapped in false protection. Strings disguised as kindness.
“I appreciate the offer,” she said, voice like steel, “but I won’t trade my daughter’s future for temporary safety.”
Vessa didn’t argue. Instead, she stepped closer, voice lowering.
“Then let me offer a prophecy instead.”
Aria tensed.
Vessa reached into her cloak and withdrew a parchment, brittle and yellowed. She handed it over without flourish.
“It was written by a Seer long before your birth. It speaks of a child born under a broken bond. Of a Luna cast aside. And of an empire rebuilt from ashes.”
Aria stared at the text. The symbols were ancient, but she recognized the cadence. The phrasing. Her blood knew the words even if her mind couldn’t translate all of them.
“She is coming,” Vessa said softly. “And whether you align with Greenwood or not — others will come. To worship. To fight. To claim.”
After Vessa and her envoys departed — their offer refused, but the parchment accepted — Aria remained silent for a long time.
Zara paced near the window, still bristling. “They’re going to stir things up. This isn’t the last group that’ll come sniffing around.”
“I know,” Aria whispered.
She unfolded the parchment again, tracing her fingers over the faded ink. The phrase that stood out clearest was a line near the bottom:
‘She will not cry when born. She will howl.’
A chill passed through Aria. Not fear. Something older. Like recognition.
Zara came to stand beside her. “You think it’s real?”
“I think the baby kicked at the exact moment I touched this,” Aria said, voice tight. “And I think whatever’s inside me… it’s not just mine.”
Her voice caught on the last words.
She thought she’d come to terms with the pregnancy. With being alone. With being discarded. But this child… she was not just a remnant of Kael. She was a signal.
A beginning.
That night, Aria dreamed.
She stood beneath a blood moon. Alone in a forest of ash. And from the trees came the sound of wolves howling — hundreds of them, layered, eerie, ancestral.
Then a soft cry cut through the noise.
A baby’s cry.
No — not a cry. A howl.
She turned, and there in the shadows stood her child. Eyes glowing silver. Not frightened. Not small. But radiant. Commanding. Born under ruin, but forged for reign.
Aria woke with her pulse racing.
She touched her belly, and again, her daughter stirred.
Down in the lower valley, a figure stepped from the shadows where the envoys had ridden off. He wore no crest. Carried no message. But his eyes gleamed with unnatural light, and the glyphs inked into his arms pulsed faintly in the cold.
He had not come to offer protection.
He had not come to parley.
He had come to watch.
And to report back.
Because the girl was coming.
And not everyone wanted her to survive.
